


a large hairy dog

by wanderNavi



Series: tiny ships in the shadow of the behemoth [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Chrom suddenly confronts a series of ideas, F/M, I know nothing about weddings, Proposed Infidelity, and has no idea how to conduct himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderNavi/pseuds/wanderNavi
Summary: The next person that dares mention anything aboutdroit du seigneurto Chrom is getting thrown out of the castle, physically and metaphorically.
Relationships: Chrom/Sumia (Fire Emblem), Frederick/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Series: tiny ships in the shadow of the behemoth [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1236185
Kudos: 20





	a large hairy dog

**Author's Note:**

> This piece isn’t in the Behemoth timeline, but the character dynamics are the same. Actually, this isn’t in any proper timeline, it’s some quasi mishmash of time skip and post-canon events where I chop up bits of characterization as I see fit. 
> 
> Given the subject matter, there's discussion of something approaching non-con, but it vehemently doesn't actually happen. 
> 
> Title in reference to Sir Terry Pratchett's _Wyrd Sisters_.

Robin’s in Plegia, stirring up all kinds of mixed feelings, no doubt, stomping up and down its capital saying, _no, we’re not going to annex Plegia into some kind of crown jewel for Ylisse, we literally fought off an empire over this, sit down_ , so Frederick’s left behind to deliver the news to Chrom.

Once all the ministers and other advisors file out of the room, Frederick corners Chrom into his chair, looming over him so that he can’t stand up and stretch like he desperately needs to after listening to head bobbling and arguing for three hours straight. “Robin wanted to be here to tell you, but the talks in Plegia are taking longer than we expected and she already had the date in mind beforehand,” Frederick says, shrugging and Chrom has a moment of bewilderment, date for what, the land and harvest taxes they just spent all morning fruitlessly drafting and scrapping? But Frederick plows on and announces like he’s discussing the weather, “We’re marrying just after the summer solstice.”

“Oh,” Chrom says, sidelined by the level of casualness for something of such magnitude. In fact, Frederick _had_ given Chrom reports on the weather with more gravity before, when they watched storm clouds rolling over a potential battlefield and making bets and hedges on if the heavens would split over the open field and if the rains would be over before daybreak the next morning. He adds lamely, “Congratulations.”

Frederick nods in thanks while the words finally sink in and Chrom tacks on, “Hold on, but aren’t Say’ri and Cherche arriving soon after the solstice to renew our treaties?”

“They are,” Frederick answers, still blandly, like this isn’t a giant scheduling issue.

“But what about your honeymoon?” Chrom asks.

Chrom particularly dislikes this frown directed at him, for while Frederick’s always had a wide library of scowls and furrowed brows, he definitely learned this one from Robin when she does nothing to hide her distaste with a slow subordinate skirting dismissal due to sheer incompetence. The annoyance hasn’t crept into Frederick’s voice yet, small mercies, but he says, “If I may remind you, milord, Robin and I are your left- and right-hand men. She’s your chief tactician and holds the reins over most of your foreign diplomacy and all of Ylisse’s intelligence networks. I’m the captain of your guard and knights. Our duty binds us.”

“Hey! The kingdom will be fine for a month, there’s no need to plunge right back into work after the ceremony,” Chrom says indignantly on their behalf.

“Milord, we can make our own choices.”

“As your friend, I say you take a month off before or after the treaty negotiations, depending on the delegation’s arrival. As your Exalt,” Chrom cuts over the other’s forming protests, “I can force you to take this break. Sumia will back me up.”

Frederick sighs. When Chrom ropes in Sumia – and it won’t be hard, what the hells are Robin and Frederick thinking, returning to work as if they haven’t just _married_ – Lissa will fall in line and drag along Maribelle and Cordelia and next thing, over half the castle and the Shepherd ranks will be on Chrom’s side. Chief tactician and captain of the guard or not, they can’t fight against those odds or numbers.

“You’re getting your honeymoon,” Chrom declares and shoves the chair back with a horrible screech against the stone floor and makes a break for the door and the sun-soaked outsides.

* * *

Chrom expects Robin to know anything and everything that happens in Ylisse – especially in the castle and Ylisstol – immediately because she has spies everywhere, reporting to her in a constant stream, even if he’s yet to catch such a meeting in action. He expects the minor nobles to know everything nearly as instantaneously because they’re all horrendous gossips. On his less amicable days, such as days when he had to spend _three hours_ arguing over the taxes to levy on barley, he also tacks on “sinister, conniving, lying bastards.”

Sumia hears the news of the upcoming wedding from Chrom that night and Cordelia gets the news from Frederick and beyond that it’s a free-for-all network that Chrom doesn’t keep track of. In a few days, everyone knows, and it takes Chrom and Frederick twice as long to get around the castle because the servants, the nobles, the archivists, the knights, the scribes, the cooks, the stable hands, _everyone_ keeps pulling Frederick aside to deliver their congratulations.

Lukas vaults out of some nonexistent shadows to clap Frederick on the shoulder and says, “About time you and the boss tied the knot,” and silently melted back away before Chrom can settle his jumping heartrate. Chrom doesn’t see Robin’s other informants send their well wishes, but they must be because Frederick comes in half a week later, weighed down by a horrendously large and gaudy bouquet and explains it with, “Delphi gave me this earlier.”

And well, it _is_ good for them, and Chrom isn’t going to interfere with the matter any further.

Unfortunately, after Robin’s been away for three months and counting, the more incompetently ambitious nobles get used to their imagined expanded freedom and start approaching Chrom with stupid ideas. Chrom can’t kick them out of his court without good reason, but he dearly wants to every time Duke Siegfried’s wig shivers with his cough clearing his throat and he then opens his mouth to bring something moronic to the discussion once again.

Siegfried and Lady Fairfield corner Chrom at the end of semi-productive meeting, waiting for everyone else to file out to picnics and teas and plays and whatever else they can figure out what to spend their money on. His good mood evaporates when he catches their expressions.

An excessive cough to accent a thought, Siefried says, “Exalt Chrom, there’s a matter we wish to discuss with you.”

“Yes, what is it?” Chrom asks with half a mind already on the spar Frederick and Vaike promised in the evening. For once, the spring rains cleared for more than a few days and Chrom intends to take full advantage of the sparse weeks of pleasant breezes and clear sunlight before spring runs away and leaves summer in its place.

“In relation to the upcoming wedding between Sir Frederick and your tactician Robin,” Fairfield says and Chrom does know how to carefully school his face into unreadable, cool interest, “are you aware of the Exalt’s right to the bride’s wedding night?”

Chrom did _not_ hear that right, “Excuse me?”

“If the Exalt pleases, they may take a bride of their vassals on the wedding night,” Siegfried explains.

Emmeryn never mentioned anything along these lines and there were plenty of weddings in her time. Furthermore, Siegfried and Fairfield have made their beliefs that Robin’s been persecuting their businesses in particular quite clear over the last few years. Only the thinnest of legislation and alibies kept them from being sent packing out of Ylisstol, with all political influence amputated, along with the rest of the more corrupt cohort Robin weeded out of the minor noble ranks while she was cleaning shop and rebuilding Ylisse’s treasury. Their political influences are half-amputated and Siegfried’s been an agitating thorn in Chrom’s side since, with Fairfield playing distraction and cheerleader.

Chrom smiles coldly at the two, left hand resting on Falchion’s hilt because he _is_ supposed to be on his way to the training grounds by now, and inquires, “If I’m understanding your ad _vice_ correctly, I still don’t understand your altruism. Why bring this up now?”

“Certain parties have concerns about her loyalties,” says Fairfield, with the concern of a friend. “And besides, your interests in her are well known among our circles.”

 _In_ terests, is this what we’re now calling trusting your best friends with the lives of your kingdom and yourself? Chrom thinks disparagingly. He doesn’t - do these two think they’re doing Chrom a favor – who else is thinking, what kinds of rumors –

Considering Robin’s personally dispatched the last five assassination attempts on Chrom that he knows of, along with willingly plunging into battles at his side with only a month’s memories and regularly nagging him about taking undue risks, her loyalty is hardly in question. Chrom doesn’t need to barge into her and Frederick’s quarters at the end of a day of ceremony and festivities for more insurance that she’ll remain at his side. Not to mention, he’ll never get a chance to even cross the threshold. She would hex him right back out of the door. And then she wouldn’t speak to him for weeks and Frederick will judge him as severely as the time he tried collecting frogs as a child and accidentally dropped a hoard of amphibians into Lissa’s playpen and frightened her enough that nothing he or Emmeryn tried could console her for days.

Still, he _had_ considered Robin’s bed hadn’t he, when she was still a new, curious acquaintance Chrom picked up from some fields. Under her coat, her shirts with those thin straps left little to the imagination, arms and shoulders bared for all to see, a blend between loose and snug over her chest. The less said about their respective mishaps with the camp baths, the better, because that way lies embarrassment and Frederick’s narrowed eyes, though, _yes_ , he still gave some thoughts, and –

“Get out, _get out_ ,” and then Chrom is alone, scrubbing one hand over his face, slumped back, knocked back by the thought of it. The thought, _gods_ , of Robin laid out before him, without the haze of steam in the way, with Frederick watching and gripping her hands, fingers white from how hard they’re interlocked. The damn suggestion and hells, there’s Sumia, sweet Sumia, how could he. And that said, how _had_ Frederick and Robin become a thing in the beginning, he still doesn’t understand it fully, down to the core of the first spark. Well, he knows the how of _now_ , two steel-eyed guardians flanking him, but –

Gods, what creep of an ancestor did he have that created that rule, did his father know too?

No doubt his father knew.

* * *

Chrom has a well entitled freak out, later, in privacy, because okay, then rushes off to the relevant parties with news of this development. Almost all of them. There’s no way he’s writing about this to Robin.

He finds Sumia first, in the stables, just finished with a flight and he plies her away from listening ears.

“I can’t _believe_ ,” Sumia says, still flustered and Chrom doesn’t think she will somehow end up on the floor from her current seat but won’t be surprised either if she manages it. _He_ almost wants to be on the floor.

“Why?” she asks. “Do they think I'm not a good enough wife, what?”

“I’ve never heard of this rule before. Emmeryn never mentioned anything like it and the Exalt line doesn’t have an extensive history of bastards.” The floor looks quite attractive, anything to hide or cool the flush over both of their faces.

“Oh, well, well, I know you, you’re not –”

“Of course, I’m not.”

“You’re not actually going to have sex with Robin on her wedding night.”

“Frederick’s not going to leave the room,” Chrom says to the ceiling where the carved plaster leaves and decorations can't judge him. “And then, I wouldn’t be able to speak to either of them for a month despite how we’re going to be forced to spend hours in each other’s presence for the renewal of our treaties with Chon’sin and the federations in Valm.”

Sumia squeaks. He looks down at her. She waves her hands in the flustered language of _I don’t know how to convey how mortified I am in words right now_ and says, “You think he would stay?”

“Considering how they would have just gotten married and how much Frederick hates letting Robin out of his sight for longer than they need to, I doubt he’d leave and actually, let’s _stop_ considering this, because it’s not happening.” Her ears are still entirely red. And since it bears reinforcing, he says, “I love you Sumia.”

Her whole face turns red. “Oh, well, yes, I, I love you too Chrom. Even – anyways, who else do you think knows about. Duke Siegfried and Lady Fairfield’s suggestion?”

He grimaces because that’s not a question he wants to personally answer. “Don’t know. I was thinking though, Maribelle could probably figure out.”

“Cordelia as well,” Sumia says.

“Yes, and then we’ll deal with this as need be.”

A forgiving silence settles, then Chrom shatters it with the realization, “Oh gods, I need to tell Frederick and Robin about this now.”

* * *

Frederick glares into the distance. Great, both of their days are now ruined.

“Exactly,” Chrom says. “I’ve already talked with Sumia, we’re planning on setting Cordelia and Maribelle on them to figure out who else is involved. As captain of the guard along with Robin, I’m sure you’ll do what’s necessary to take care of them and figure out if this rule even exists and if it does, then _why_ is it still around.”

“Very well,” Frederick accepts.

Chrom glances over at him and deems it safe enough to ask, “More importantly, do you even have a wedding planner yet?”

Frederick turns around and leaves.

* * *

Finally, Robin rides back home.

“I’ll have the discussion with her,” Frederick tells Chrom and considering the stormy expression on her tanned face the next day, Chrom assumes they talk about the matter.

She grabs his arm at the end of the day’s meetings, including the one where she spent three hours debriefing Chrom on everything that transpired over her stay in Plegia which apparently included a minor attempted coup, and commands, “How about you and Sumia join us for dinner? It’s been too long since we last shared a private meal.”

“Sure,” Chrom agrees. She nods and stalks off, suddenly acquiring a Lukas shadow while rounding the corner to another hallway.

Dinner arrives too soon and the awkwardness radiation from Chrom and Sumia could fill the pitcher they were all serving themselves drinks from several times over. The conversation begins with Robin giving Sumia souvenirs and a few books bound in soft leather and Chrom discussing anything that doesn’t touch taxes or military reports or diplomatic missives or Frederick and Robin undressing.

Come dessert time though, Robin says, “I’ve talked with Maribelle,” and Chrom thinks, _when_ , he knows what her schedule’s like.

Sumia flushes as red as the strawberries on the fruit tarts. “Oh, about.”

“She agrees that Siegfried and Fairfield’s sugges _tion_ isn’t severe enough to excuse retribution. Annoying yes, but not severe enough,” Robin says with an even, bland voice. She cuts her pastry with an angry stab of her knife.

Besides her, Frederick doesn’t exactly … shimmer, but Chrom would have been if he was in his circumstances. In fact, Chrom already _is_ , kind of. Thankfully, as with everything in their lives at this point, Robin takes the reins and nods decisively, “I’m still going to find a way to expel them from Ylisstol for most of the rest of their lives.”

“Okay,” Chrom says and Sumia echoes.

Robin takes a bite, swallows, and points her fork at Chrom with the sheer brazenness that only she could get away with for such casualness with the Exalt. “And stop harassing Frederick about a wedding planner, we’ve got that taken care of.”

Said planner materializes a couple weeks later, along with a platoon of bakers, tailors, florists, and many, many more specialists that Chrom doesn’t keep track of as Robin and Frederick keep digging them up from Chrom doesn’t need to know where.

Robin, as Chrom’s tactician, doesn’t have a solid job title – General? Lieutenant? just, Tactician? – so people tend to dig themselves down to _ma’am_ , at which point Robin sometimes throws Chrom little glares of varying friendliness. When people strike _sir_ first, Chrom sends pointed looks back. Having one of these recurring spats over the heads of a handful of people Robin’s interrogating for their fitness to officiate her wedding is perhaps an inopportune moment.

Besides them, Libra clears his throat and asks, “Should we be looking for someone more closely aligned with your faith as well, Robin? Everyone we’ve approached so far have been more Frederick.”

“No need,” she says, “I doubt we’ll dig up someone who knows the Plegian ceremonies. And with the tensions Ylisse still has with Plegia, it’s a tossup how people will react.”

Chrom frowns at her, because there’s something else, a little deeper than just that, a reservation she has buried and guarded by teeth and claws. Unvoiced, and Chrom doesn’t have the first clue at guessing what she’s thinking or knows. Robin’s always hiding at least half a hand of secrets and worries she stealthily handles behind his back, so he never knows what specifically is churning in her head.

* * *

As spring marches along into a head-on collision with summer, Chrom grabs every chance and excuse to be outside as he can with both hands. He doesn’t even have to work hard for this opportunity. Chrom, Lissa, and just about every member of the Shepherds at the castle town are dragged into a wedding rehearsal. Maribelle fusses unconsolably around the couple, a tiny Brady anchored at her hip. They aren’t all in full dress, but the pomp and ceremony is certainly in full fervor, including a dizzying array of cakes and fine food.

Chrom does _not_ doze off amid all the talking, he just doesn’t exactly pay attention, that’s all. What’s far more interesting is inadvertently running into Robin by the hulking pyramid of drinks begging to ruin all the tablecloth below. Her eyes blink at him, and Chrom’s distracted by that, _eyes_ , two eyes, since her hair is pulled back by a ring of pinned up braids, away from her face and tucked under a band of freshly plucked flowers. Under Lissa and Cordelia’s insistence, Robin conceded to the hairdressers testing how long her surprisingly unruly hair can be kept pinned by their planned hairstyle and it’s causing Chrom physical pain and confusion from how unprepared he is for the whole endeavor.

“Almost done now,” she says. “Though I don’t think anyone will complain if this break continues for a bit longer.”

He can’t find it in himself to resent her for reminding him of all the tedious planning and logistics and treaty drafts he readily abandoned at his desk, but had it been anyone else, he probably would have. “I won’t,” he agrees.

With laughter, she tells him, “Don’t let Miriel hear you say that,” and drifts off to ambush someone else.

A couple drinks later finds Chrom standing beside Stahl with an unobscured view of a growing titter of activity. Whatever Chrom’s saying is suddenly irrelevant since Robin’s wedding dress does nothing to hide how obviously strong her arms are under the sheer lace, that her gestures make readily apparent. He’s waylaid by the memory of Donnel and Vaike whooping with approval as she hurls throwing axe after throwing axe from ever increasing distances, each blade sinking into the target’s center with a heavy thud.

“I want to cut the cake with a sword,” she’s saying to Frederick, overcome with laughter.

Chrom will pay everyone and anyone anything necessary to see this.

“You can’t cut the wedding cake with a _sword_ ,” Maribelle sniffs.

“Why not?” Sully butts in.

“It’s my cake,” Robin says, overly pleased with herself and with Sully’s support.

“You can’t just –” Maribelle protests again, “That’s just not done and inappropriate.”

“It’s _my_ wedding,” Robin repeats. “If it’s my own sword there shouldn’t be an issue.”

Sully bumps against her shoulder and says with a smirk, “Not Frederick’s sword?”

Robin glances up at Frederick and with an equal smirk, merely hums to Sully’s roaring laughter of approval.

It’s a good day, Chrom decides. He hasn’t seen Siegfried and Fairfield in days and any hints of their suggestion have been squashed. The weather’s been beautiful, and the kingdom’s crops have been doing well. For the most part, they’re at peace with all their neighbors and their significant trade partners have also been prospering. He’s surrounded by his friends and his kids are growing up in an environment he’s always dreamed of providing for them. Things are great.

Across the pavilion, Robin catches Chrom’s eye. She smiles at him. _Thunk_ , Chrom thinks, the fizzling tingle of nervousness trembling up his spine and down to his fingertips, spreading all through his body and only amplifying with each drink. He spends most of the day in an embarrassing daze.

* * *

Cherche cheers with approval over Maribelle’s groan of despair as Robin partitions her towering wedding cake into even slices with her polished sword. There’s cooing and jeers in good humor as she feeds the first slice to Frederick in tiny bites, along with all the other baked sweets laid out with the orderly ranks of a military parade that she pucks in offering.

Released from the slow dryness of the wedding ceremony itself, everyone revels in the following celebration with wild abandon. The dancing and good music proceeds for hours uninterrupted as everyone gets drunker and drunker on the alcohol provided and gifted. As the clock bypasses midnight, the guests slowly trail off, lumbering to bed and sleep or continuing the drinking where there are more chairs to collapse into in their private quarters. At last, all who remain are Robin, Frederick, Sumia, and Chrom himself.

“You should head up. Go to bed,” Chrom tells the newlywed then distracts himself with pride at how smoothly that came out of his drunken mouth. “It’s late,” he says.

“Mngh,” Robin says. Some time during the evening, she lost half the pins holding her hair up and now the braids have begun unraveling in uneven, fuzzy segments. She also abandoned her veil at some point and in general looks like her normal half-dishevelment following a long spar or short battle. She blinks and grabs Frederick’s hand in hers. “You’re right, that sounds right, we’ll just.” She walks forward, pauses, and kicks off her shoes. Picks them up to swing from the curl of her unoccupied hand and continues on her bare feet. “We’ll see you tomorrow. At around lunch. When everyone’s less hungover and can actually begin negotiating.”

“Please stop talking,” Chrom begs her.

Ever the man to do what’s best for his Exalt, Frederick whisks Robin off before she can continue rambling about treaties and legislation to Chrom’s sluggish mind.

“Have a good night,” Sumia yells after them and nearly falls on her face.

Chrom steers Sumia with an arm around her waist, the better to keep her from tumbling over. But honestly, if she goes down, he’s likely to go down too. The drinks Say’ri brought are much stronger than he expected. The royal chambers seem like a far-off fantasy, separated from the reality of their slow walk by too many wings and stairs. They arrive, eventually, and Chrom will regret not undressing the next morning, but he doesn’t care right now about anything besides falling asleep besides _his_ wife and not anyone else.

Things are good, he decides. His best friends have gotten married today. Annoyances in his side have been swept away. He’s finagled a honeymoon vacation for Robin and Frederick with the terrifying assistance of Lukas and Delphi on a mission. Sumia’s already fallen asleep at Chrom’s side and he doesn’t need to concern himself with whatever Robin and Frederick are getting up to a this moment and everything is _good_ and Chrom promptly passes out.

**Author's Note:**

> This is weirdly vague and going to be retconned to hell when I write the core story. Robin’s wedding is too big a plot point. But Chrom being flustered over Robin throwing axes just because she wanted to try is too good.


End file.
